Whether Bartley perfectly divined or not all the feeling at which her words hinted, it was delicious to be clung about by such a pretty girl as Marcia Gaylord, to have her now darting her face into his neck-scarf with intolerable consciousness, and now boldly confronting him with all-defying fondness while she lightly pushed him and pulled him here and there in the vehemence of her appeal. Perhaps such a man, in those fastnesses of his nature which psychology has not yet explored, never loses, even in the tenderest transports, the sense of prey as to the girl whose love he has won; but if this is certain, it is also certain that he has transports which are tender, and Bartley now felt his soul melted with affection that was very novel and sweet. “Why, Marcia!” he said, “what a strange girl you are!” He sunk into his chair again, and, putting his arms around her waist, drew her upon his knee, like a child. She held herself apart from him at her arm's length, and said, “Wait! Let me say it before it seems as if we had always been engaged, and everything was as right then as it is now. Did you despise me for letting you kiss me before we were engaged?” “No,” he laughed again. “I liked you for it.” “But if you thought I would let any one else, you wouldn't have liked it?” This diverted him still more. “I shouldn't have liked that more than half as well.” “No,” she said thoughtfully. She dropped her face awhile on his shoulder, and seemed to be struggling with herself. Then she lifted it, and “Did you ever--did you--” she gasped. “If you want me to say that all the other girls in the world are not worth a hair of your head, I'll say that, Marcia. Now, let's talk business!” This made her laugh, and “I shall want a little lock of yours,” she said, as if they had hitherto been talking of nothing but each other's hair. “And I shall want all of yours,” he answered. “No. Don't be silly.” She critically explored his face. “How funny to have a mole in your eyebrow!” She put her finger on it. “I never saw it before.” “You never looked so closely. There's a scar at the corner of your upper lip that I hadn't noticed.” “Can you see that?” she demanded, radiantly. “Well, you _have_ got good eyes! The cat did it when I was a little girl.”